


hawthorns (barren lands);

by le luci bianche (Klarisza)



Series: trees (and other emotions); [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Prose Poem, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, writing this made me super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klarisza/pseuds/le%20luci%20bianche
Summary: i will grow roots on the thought of you and flourish there, a tree under a glass lid, never to stretch its branches;





	hawthorns (barren lands);

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pseudthisyafucks (collettephinz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crisscross (Streets Akin to Veins)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145549) by [Pseudthisyafucks (collettephinz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/Pseudthisyafucks). 



> Recommended music- 'Help' by London Grammar  
> {Not beta'ed}

I fucking hate you. Every time I think of you I can feel my stomach fold into itself and bones crack just a little bit more. It’s disgusting, it’s sick. It’s like falling off a bridge, plummeting into darkness. It’s like falling in love.

And it is, in a way. Every time you hurt me, every time I forgive you, I love you just a bit more. Worst drugs have nothing on this awful, addicting feeling. I know it’ll hurt, I know it won’t help, but I still let it happen. _I still let it happen_ , no matter the consequences.

Sometimes I like to imagine how would your touch feel. Would you set my bones, mend the cuts? Or would you tear the broken pieces out, one by one, make them into a trophy? No matter what, I would still welcome you, open up the doors of my heart and light the hearth. Let you make yourself home in there, warm and safe. I wouldn’t want anything back. I just want you alive. Alive and well.

Because you fuck up, you fuck up so much and I wish someday you would just die because of it. Saw the consequences of your recklessness, felt it in your gut like I always do. Felt the bruise blossoming on your stomach, the cut on your leg, reaching down into the meat, punctured lung slowly losing precious oxygen. Maybe then I would be free again, cold and unbothered, like I’m supposed to be.

 _No,_ fuck, I don’t really want you dead.

Well, maybe I do, in a way. I wouldn’t ever admit it, though, not even to myself. Sometimes, when you come back barely alive, your damn luck holding you by the shoulders, it sweeps through my mind, like a summer breeze. Light, refreshing, but fleeting and too fragile to be noticed. I never even try to catch it, just let it flee through my fingers, become but a drop in the endless rushing river of subconscious. Because no, I would rather die than see you lifeless, white as a wall, empty. I would rather sacrifice myself a thousand times, let them beat me, destroy me. You don’t know that, don’t understand, but that’s okay. I let you past the walls anyway, lead you across the bridge, away from dark waters of the river, somewhere where I can at least pretend you might love me.

I know you never will. No matter if I cry or scream, you just _won’t_. You weren’t cut out for this, I can’t blame you. I never could, I love you too much to do so. But I can always blame myself. For being foolish, for being pathetic, for not knowing when to stop. For still coming back, even after everything grabs and pulls to get me away. I push it all away, because you’re hurt, because you’re bleeding. Because you almost let yourself die and I wouldn’t ever forgive myself losing you.  
Then you shrug and do it again. Because, on the contrary, you don’t give a shit. You might get hurt, you know that. You might bleed, you know that. You might die, you know that. But you just can’t even try to afford to care.

But you don’t understand, do you? I won’t move on. I know it, I feel it within every knuckle, every rib, every disc of my beaten spine. I will grow roots on the thought of you and flourish there, a tree under a glass lid, never to stretch its branches. A hawthorn on a barren land, forgotten and dry. Still, I'll give you the prettiest flowers, bear the reddest fruit. I'll make the soil fertile again,  if only to remember you.

 _I fucking hate you_. I hate you so much my lungs burst open and guts spill out. But I also love you. Love you so much it hurts, more than a bullet wound, more than a cut throat.

Maybe that’s what love is supposed to be. Cold water freezing in a deep gash, somewhere within the chest, never healing, always idly throbbing. Between numb and painful. A sickly looking thing, disgusting both on the outside and the inside. A parasite, stuck to the walls of the stomach, hungry and violent.

And so, here I am, writing myself a slow poem of death. Looking for the sun in your unrelenting shadow, like a dove just before the dawn breaks. But it never will. I don’t even expect it to, not anymore.  
Never even should have.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, after the last chapter, Jack just stood behind me wheezing. So I let him wheeze onto my keyboard. And this thing happened. I'm not super happy with it, but it also exhausted me quite a bit. So lol idk, I'll just leave it here I guess, before I decide to destroy it out of frustration. Continuing the new trend of fanfiction for fanfiction. If you see any errors and such, please let me know. <3  
> *runs away*


End file.
